LIBRARY OF CONGRESS, 

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 






HEART LYRICS 



BY 




JESSIE Frp'DONNELL 






Ever drifting, drifting, drifting 

On the shifting 
Currents of the restless heart. 

— Longfellow. 



f 

v 5 




NEW YORK AND LONDON 

G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS 

&\t Ihtukerbotker $)ress 



\% 



.04; 



COPYRIGHT, 1887, 

By JESSIE F. O'DONNELL. 

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. 



Press of 

G. P. Putnam's Sons 

New York 



TO MY FATHER 

"HEART LYRICS" 

IS LOVINGLY DEDICATED 



The incense burned by the lily 

Just hints at its heart ;• 
The rose of its secret beatity 

Reveals but a part. 

There 's rhythm divine in its sweetness 

The soul hears alone ; 
And the warmest thought of the loving 

Must still be unknown. 



Digitized by the Internet Archive 
in 2011 with funding from 
The Library of Congress 



http://www.archive.org/details/heartlyricsOOodon 



CONTENTS. 










PAGE. 


The Night-Blooming Cereus i 


A White Easter 










5 


An Easter Hymn 










7 


A Valentine 










8 


Regret .... 










ii 


A Sister's Thought in March 










■ 13 


Thistle-Down . 










. 16 


A-Sailing .... 










. 18 


Dream Lace 










20 


Golden-Rod 










. 28 


Song of Autumn 










29 


An October Daisy . 










■ 32 


When His Heart Died . 










. 38 


Completion . 










41 


Tree Silhouettes 










47 


New Year Gifts 










. 50 


The New Year's Gift 










52 



VI CONTENTS. 

PAGE. 

The Sale of the Pig 54 

Compensation 57 

The Heart of a Flirt 59 

Tell-Tale Eyes 62 

Cloudland 65 

Shut In 69 

The Smitten Riviera 70 

Battle Fields . . 73 

Immortality 76 

The Sweetest Joy of Heaven .... 82 

Butterflies 84 

Some Days 88 

The Coal Digger 89 

Separation 93 

And Yet 96 

And Yet 97 

An Interlude , 99 

Divided 101 

Two Women . . 103 

Reflections 106 

To my Clock 107 

Morning-Glories 109 



HEART LYRICS. 



THE NIGHT-BLOOMING CEREUS. 

The indolent four-o'clock ladies 

Had waked from their long, dreamy rest, 
But the sun-flower's golden-lashed blossoms 

Had turned their brown eyes to the west, 
And the lilies grown suddenly weary, 

Lay hushed on the river's cold breast. 

The blue-bells began a soft tinkle, 
The primroses opened their eyes ; 

And the grasses waved low where the fairies 
Had stolen the violets' disguise ; 

And above, through the angels' vast gardens, 
The stars blossomed out in the skies. 



2 THE NIGHT-BLOOMING CERE US. 

A voice from the lily-bells calling, 

Rang out on the even air clear : 
" O ye blossoms ! awake, in the gardens ! 

The Lord of the flowers cometh near ! 
O awake ! in the field and the woodland ; 

The Maker of blossoms is here ! ' 

The poppy just murmured : " I 'm sleepy ! ' 
And nodded her round, drowsy head ; 

And the tulips had closed their bright shutters 
" Against the night dew-drops," they said ; 

And the little green balls of the daisies 
Never stirred in their soft, grassy bed. 

But sweetly the tall, fragrant lily 

Uplifted her chalice of light, 
And the roses threw open their bosoms 

And gladdened the fair summer night, 
And the stars of the jasmine blossoms 

Leaned down from the trellises* height. 

The Lord, walking slow through the garden, 
Smiled back at the rose's perfume, 

Caressing the lily's pale petals, 
Or shaking the hyacinth's plume, 



THE NIGHT-BLOOMING CERE US. 3 

Till He came where the Cereus slumbered, 
Close-hiding her beautiful bloom. 

She thrilled at the heavenly presence, 

And slowly uncovered her face, 
And swinging the pearl of her censer, 

With reverent, ineffable grace, 
Stood revealed in her magical beauty, 

The soul of that wonderful place. 

Spellbound at the white, growing vision, 
The Lord watched the flower unfold, 

Till away from the quivering stamens 
The last snowy petal had rolled, 

Then He bent o'er the weird, witching blos- 
som, 
Left a kiss on its bosom of gold. 

All tremulous with the keen rapture, 
And rich with the Master's breath, 

" Not one lesser touch shall defile me! ,! 
The night-blooming Cereus saith, 

And gathering her garments about her, 
She yielded her sweetness to death. 



I THE NIGHT-BLOOMING CEREUS. 

Whenever a Cereus blossoms, 

'T is said that the Master is nigh, 

That He watches the glorious flower 
Uncurl the gold stamens that lie 

In the petals that tremble with rapture, 
And shut round His kiss when they die. 



A WHITE EASTER. 

Oh ! the wondrous, glistening Easter, 
Shining in the morning light ! 

Silently the world had blossomed, 
Like a white rose in the night ; 

Softly smiled the winter landscape 
To the sunbeam's glances bright. 

Then I knew the wild Ice-Spirit 

Swift this marvel great had wrought ; 

Crystal robes for trees and bushes 
In the darkness he had brought, 

While the rainbow's gorgeous colors 
Diamonded fringes caught. 

Every tree wore jewelled flowers, 
Flashing like a monarch's crown, 

All the tiny twigs and branches 
With a weight of gems bent down, 

5 



A WHITE EASTER. 

And the slender, stately pine-trees 
Had to crystal columns grown. 

" He is risen ! " soft the maples 
To the hearts that listened saith, 

Pointing fingers white to Heaven, 
" He has conquered even Death ! " 

" He is risen ! " sparkling crystals 
Echoed in their frosty breath. 

And if ever speech were silver, 
Then it was, as clear and sweet, 

" He is risen ! " all the ice-sprays 
Seemed to joyously repeat, 

While they swayed in Easter sunlight, 
And dropped jewels at our feet. 

" He is risen ! " cried our glad hearts, 
" Death's mysterious veil unrolls, 

And forever Death's dark kingdom 
He has conquered and controls ! " 

And were ever silence golden, 
'T was the stillness in our souls. 



AN EASTER HYMN. 

From snow-drops at the altar laid, 
Like pure maidens kneeling, 

As tho' of its own sound afraid, 
A fairy voice comes stealing: 

" Christ is risen ! " whispers sweet, 

" Death lies conquered 'neath his feet, 

The Easter lilies, tall and slight, 
Their golden anthers gleaming, 

Within their waxen bosoms white 
Of holy things are dreaming, 

Stirring softly, say apart : 

" Blessed are the pure in heart !" 

Triumphant o'er the empty tomb, 

The Easter-tide denoting, 
The violets' rich purple bloom 

Sends clouds of fragrance floating, 
To each heart this message gives : 
" Know that thy Redeemer lives ! " 

7 



A VALENTINE. 

HAVE you counted the thistle's wandering 
flakes 

That the wind scatters lightly 'round him ? 
Or the plumes that the gray old dandelion 
shakes 

From the feathery wreath that crowned him ? 
Do you know how often the daisies 

Have tempted the wind to woo ? 
Or the rose has blushed at his praises ? — 

Then number my thoughts of you. 

Can you measure a blue-bird's quivering flight ? 

Or the speed of a homesick swallow, 
When the sunbeams have fled far south in the 
night, 

And the birds and the wild bees follow ? 
Do you think, while watching them winging 

So fast down their pathway blue, 

8 



A VALENTINE. g 

That my thoughts as swiftly are swinging 
World-over to follow you ? 

Have you looked in the violets' innocent eyes? 

Have the lilies breathed once o'er you ? 
Have they opened their fragrant hearts to the 
skies ? 

And kissed the June breeze before you ? 
Have you heard the voices of showers 

Go murmuring all night through 
A rhythm of love to the flowers? — 

So sweet are my thoughts of you. 

Have you watched the blooms by zephyrs be- 
guiled 

From the apple-trees gently stealing ? 
Have you seen o'er the weary eyes of a child 

The lashes drop slumberous healing ? 
Do you know how soft the caresses 

From lips of the gracious dew, 
That fall on the blossoms it blesses ? — 

So tender my thoughts of you. 

You remember how surely violets will greet 
The first steps of the joyous summer ; 



IO A VALENTINE. 

And you know how the daisies spring 'round 
the feet 

Of the radiant, welcome comer. 
The ripe fruit brings gold to September, 

And roses to June are true ; — 
And my thoughts, beloved, remember 

Are faithful as these to you 



REGRET. 

Do you believe the violets 

Are missed by summer greatly ? 

When daisies come the wind forgets 
The flowers he loved so lately. 

When lilacs bloom, and lilies, too, 

How can he to one plant be true? 

I do not think the flowers care 
That last week's rose is faded, 

Or that the wind leaves branches bare 
Which once green blossoms shaded. 

Each sun-lit morn new blooms unclose ; 

Why waste regrets on one dead rose ? 

Dim grows the gold in evening skies, 
The red light faintly flushes, 

The purple shadow pales and dies 
Where glow the sun's last blushes ; 
ii 



12 REGRET. 

The night his mantle gray puts on, 
And gives no thought to glories gone. 

But ever weary hearts turn back 
To spring's violets ; and roses 

That bloom to-day forever lack 
The fragrance youth discloses ; 

And memories of first love's gold 

Will flash across life's twilights cold. 

For hearts, howe'er they try to crush 
The thoughts that stir and cry, 

Will learn 't is vain to hide and hush 
The things that never die ; 

And though for years they Ve stilled regret, 

The strong old love can rouse it yet. 



A SISTER'S THOUGHT IN MARCH. 

Oh ! the sweet, sweet things 

The Earth hides in her breast ! 
'Neath the snow that clings 
Like a vapor which the sun 
Seeks to peer through,— but there 's one 
Sweeter than the rest. 

There are daisy-stars 

And perfumed violets : 
When the spring unbars 

Winter's gate, the Earth will wake 
All the sweets kept for her sake, 
But the dearest yet. 

There is life that stirs 

Within the dull brown Earth ; 
The old world is hers 

To make young again. Will she 

13 



14 A SISTER'S THOUGHT IN MARCH. 

One fair bloom awake for me 
At the flowers' birth? 



The most precious trust 

The Earth hides in her breast, 
To my heart, is just 

A tiny, white-robed child, 
To the Earth's brown breast beguiled, 
Fairer than the rest. 



Tiny sister ! when 

The Earth sends flowers up, 
Will you greet me then ? 

Has your soul passed to the rose ? 
Will your eyes their blue unclose 
In the violet's cup ? 



Will your fingers light 

A welcome to me wave 
From the daisies' white ? 

And your breath the lilies flood 
When the dandelions stud 
With their gold your grave ? 



A SISTER'S THOUGHT IN MARCH. 1 5 

O kind Earth ! when wakes 

The spring-time at thy call, 
And the green sod breaks 

Into blossoms 'neath the sun, 
In thy joy, forget not one 
Sweeter than them all ! 



THISTLE-DOWN. 

O THISTLE-DOWN ! Soft thistle-down ! 
A breath dispels thy dainty snow ; 
The softest of all winds that blow 
May carry wide from each roadside 

The treasure of the thistle-down. 

O thistle-down ! Fair thistle-down ! 
A thousand winged fancies spring 
Into my idle thoughts, and bring 
Uncontrolled, memories old 

Of days as fair as thistle-down. 

thistle-down ! Light thistle-down ! 
In olden, golden summer hours, 

Through meadows sweet with opening flowers, 
My light heart blest with peaceful rest, 

1 walked amidst the thistle-down. 

16 



THISTLE-DOWN. I J 

O thistle-down ! Wild thistle-down ! 
Your barbs have stung my careless breast, 
You fill my soul with wild unrest ; 
Tearful I gaze these summer days 

On silver of the thistle-down. 

O thistle-down ! False thistle-down ! 
Your beauty mocks my sense of pain ; 
My faith, my trust, your barbs have slain, 
For friends who seemed true as I dreamed, 

Are false and light as thistle-down ! 

O thistle-down ! Barbed thistle-down ! 
Scatter thy flakes o'er hill and lea ; 
Thy barbs alone remain with me ; — 

Love, friendship^ faith ; joy, life, and death, 

Are nothing but barbed thistle-down. 



A-SAILING. 

A-SAILING! a-sailing! 

Throughout the golden day ; 
Skimming white waves of the silver tide, 
Over clear depths where the sunbeams hide, 

Sailing away. 

A-sailing ! a-sailing ! 

To find the sunset's glow ; 
Gliding afar from the dusty world, 
Watching the billows with foam-wreaths curled, 

Sailing I go. 

A-sailing ! a-sailing ! 

Into the crimson west, 
Turning away from the cares that fret, 
Worry and weariness I forget, 

Sailing to rest. 

18 



A-SAILING. 19 

A-sailing ! a-sailing ! 

One star, my guide, above, 
Hasting away to a heart that waits, 
I, spurning the sea that separates, 

Sail to my love. 



DREAM LACE. 

A LEGEND OF VENICE. 

In wondrous Venice, in the olden time, 
That fairy city that the amorous sea 
Holds closest in his arms, while nestling 'gainst 
His breast, she hears the mighty, slow heart- 
throbs 
Which ever in her beauty or decay 
Beat true to her, — there dwelt 'midst palaces 
And stately temples springing from the sea, 
A maid whose loveliness outshone them all, 
As shines San Marco over hovels rude. 
A slender, stately column was this girl, 
Supporting with her maiden strength a home 
Where love walked resolute with poverty, 
And uncomplaining shared his comrade's load. 
For skilful with her needle was Constance, 
And weaving endless yards of precious lace, 
She raised the sinking fortunes of her house. 

20 



DREAM LACE. 21 

Now many looked with favor on the girl, 

As through the narrow streets she made her 

way, 
To take her laces to some royal dame ; 
Or sitting at the window bent her head 
(A golden glory with the waving hair ! ) 
Above some graceful pattern that she traced, — 
A lovely picture in the casement framed, 
Wrought by the Artist God, whose tints divine 
Are mixed in Heaven. When an earthly hand 
Can take the sunlight's gold, the blue of skies, 
From daybreak clouds the snow, the crimson 

flush ; 
Can take a rose's heart, a lily's soul, 
And therefrom form a maiden, then indeed ! 
Can one dare hope to rival God's sweet work. 
The fair Constance a talisman possessed 
To guard her heart 'gainst those who sought 

her hand 
(Some noblemen among them), and from those 
Venetian gallants, who with subtle art 
Would win her love and careless cast her by, 
As one might throw an empty shell away 
From which he 's ta'en the pearl. This magic 

charm 



22 DREAM LACE. 

Was love. A sailor youth had won her heart 
When first she left her girlhood's narrow room 
And stood within the spacious court which 

leads 
To womanhood. He to the Eastern Seas 
Had sailed, but left her life so full of him 
That other men but breathing shadows seemed. 
When some adorer from his sable barque 
Beneath her window trilled a wild love song, 
She opened not her shutters to the night, 
Nor gave him greetings soft. She only thought 
His voice less sweet than one she loved so well. 
Sometimes a daring lover, sailing by, 
Tossed glowing flowers upon her broken steps, 
Or through the open window where she toiled,— 
Carnations, burning their red lives away, 
Or roses, folding fragrant leaves around 
A lovers hopes. But dearer far she kept 
Some withered violets that her sailor love 
Had placed in her bright hair with tender pride, 
And whispered that the blossoms could not 

miss 
The sunshine there. The oceans which between 
Them widened could not make their souls 

seem far. 



DREAM LACE. 2$ 

When from his first long voyage he returned, 
He brought Constance, wrapped in a silken 

scarf, 
A spray of coralline of branching shape, 
Whose graceful curves and radiating lines 
A fragile bit of wondrous beauty formed. 
" 'T is lace the laughing mermaids weave," 

said he, 
" From silky sea-weeds tangled o'er with pearls. 
In shell-strewn caves which echo with their song 
They sit with golden shuttles through the day 
And fashion lovely sprays of coral lace. 
O dainty little hands! " he laughed, and kissed 
The soft magnetic fingers, one by one, 
" You weave most wondrous tissues, but your 

skill 
Is naught to that of mermaids. " Light his 

words, 
And tender was his tone, but in her heart 
A touch of pique there lingered, that he should 
Extol a mermaid over her in aught. 
So when once more he left her for the sea, 
She studied long the plume-like coralline, 
And murmured : " I will form a fairer thing ; 
My bridal veil shall be of mermaid lace." 



24 DREAM LACE. 

She gathered dripping sea-weeds from the 

beach, 
And coralline, and wavy, curving shells, 
To serve as patterns for her graceful work, 
And many a sea-born thing she wrought 

therein : 
Quaint blossoms from the ocean-gardens deep ; 
Sea-stars, whose five straight-pointed rays disdain 
The mazy tangles of the drift-weed sprays ; 
And tiny monsters, too, grotesque and strange. 

So, day by day, the magic texture grew 
Beneath the maiden fingers skilled by love, 
A life-long practice, and an artist's eye. 
And every leisure hour which came to her 
Over her work with earnest face she bent, 
Her pretty fingers flying with the threads ; 
And as she wrought, quaint visions came to her 
Of ocean-caves where wondrous mosses grew, 
Where brilliant sea-weeds spread a glowing net 
Across the rocky walls that gleam with pink 
And pearl. Some little spray would bring her 

thoughts 
Of fairy, floating forests in the sea, 
Where carmine tints die in the fainter rose, 



DREAM LACE. 2$ 

Where olive grows to brown, and rust-like spots 
Of vivid yellow glow amid the green. 

Then wondrous stories that her lover told 
Of worlds beneath the tropic ocean's wave, 
Like salt sea-foam, came drifting to her mind : 
Of breathing blossoms, rainbow-hued and fair, 
That stretch fine, thread-like arms to seize their 

prey; 
Of deadly living nettles floating on 
The billows ; of the chambered nautilus, 
That tiny, fearless navigator who 
Sails o'er the seas in fairy skiffs of pearl. 
Strange serpents slid along her misty dreams, 
And wound their shining coils around her 

threads ; 
And elf-like faces peered thro' tufted weeds, 
And waving arms seemed stretched to draw 

her in, 
And many weird and phantom shapes besieged 
Her terror-stricken fancy. 

Spectral gleams 
Played through the mesh-like tangle of her 
thoughts 



26 DREAM LACE, 

From light-emitting fishes, golden stars, 
Hung in the under world to cheer its gloom. 
Some silver spangles shone or jewels glowed 
With opal tints ; some, fiery torches, threw 
Their dazzling splendor in the coral caves 
Where danced the water-nymphs ; some mer- 
maids bore 
To light their way to lonely sea-girt rocks, 
Where white and luminous these sirens sit 
And answer with wild song the albatross, 
Or lure some heedless sailor to his doom. 
And then her thoughts would wander from the 

sea 
To lovely women hid in misty veils, 
To white-armed maidens at the royal court 
Whose beauty by her needle was enhanced, 
To children careless of the costly lace 
With which fond mothers draped their rounded 
limbs. 

At length, the magic veil was finished, and, 
Indeed, 't was wondrous lovely, seeming 

wrought 
By fairy fingers from the white sea-foam. 
Across it crumpled threads of sea-weed lay, 



DREAM LACE. 2*J 

And coral branches fell like shadows there, 
And shells inwrought with many a sinuous 

curve 
Were traced throughout the filmy cobweb 

mesh, 
As though a dream from out the sea was born. 
And when she wore it on her wedding-day, 
The people cried, as to St. Mark's she passed : 
" 'T is Aphrodite sprung from ocean foam ! " 
The wonder of all Venice it became, 
And princesses and noble dames sought out 
The young lace-worker, till Venetian point, 
Which she, to please her lover's fancy, first 
Had wrought, was worn at court by kings and 

queens, 
And soon became the pride of all the world. 



GOLDEN-ROD. 

You have stolen your plumes from the sunshine, 

O troops of fairy elves brave ! 
And it gleams in your sceptres of splendor 

That light o'er meadow-lands wave. 

From our hearts you have cruelly stolen 
The warmth that loving thoughts gave, 

For your golden and beautiful blossoms 
Are blooming over a grave. 



28 



SONG OF AUTUMN. 

Oh ! sing me a song of autumn, 
That sweetest and saddest refrain 

That softly from nature's fingers 
Is throbbing in chords of pain. 

A song of the early Autumn : 

She 's waiting, a matron fair, 
Her feet gleaming white from vine leaves, 

The grape-clusters thick in her hair. 

Your voice must be rich with music, 
Must deepen, and sparkle, and glow 

As sweet as the waves of ocean, 
When murmuring melodies low. 

A song of the splendid autumn ; 

Of trees dressed in scarlet and brown, 
Of haze that is warm and sun-burnt, 

Of leaves that come hastening down, 

29 



30 SONG OF A UTUMN. 

With mirth let your song go ringing, 
Be merry and wild and as free 

As leaves that are tossed and tumbled 
About in the light wind's glee. 

A song of the autumn's pathos, 

When leaves begin to die, 
The wind to them calling softly 

To come from their homesteads high. 

And loosening their hold on branches, 
They flutter to his dear embrace ; 

A moment he '11 love them gaily, 

And pleased with their wonderful grace, 

In passionate dances whirl them ; 

But when they grow faded and dim, 
Will leave them to fall by roadsides, 

And die for the love of him. 

A song of the close of autumn, 
How all things prophesy death ; 

The fields that are stript of harvest, 
The wind's ice-laden breath. 



SONG OF AUTUMN. 3 1 

A song how the matron Autumn 

Stands watching with dark, cloudy eyes, 

The dim, dreary change of her forests. 
The sad gray mists of the skies. 

Low night-winds should thrill the measure, 

While wandering restlessly by, 
Till the song should grow faint and falter, 

With shudder, and sob, and with sigh. 

The notes should fall softly, gravely, 
The music grow weary and slow, 

And die like the tender blossoms, 
With the burden of Autumn's woe. 



AN OCTOBER DAISY. 

When glad October's mists bestow 

On earth a softened light, 
And asters bud and dahlias blow, 
A daisy-bud unfolded slow 

Its quivering petals white. 
It gazed with a bewildered air 
Upon the maple's branches bare, 
And watched the playful breezes throw, 
On the brown grass, like gems aglow, 

The autumn leaflets bright. 

The daisy cried : " I Ve bloomed at last ! 

Though held all summer long, 
Through sunny days that weary passed, 
By tiny arms which kept me fast, 

Of sepals, slim and strong, 
Up from their clinging, close embrace, 
I to the sunshine lift my face ! " 

32 



AN OCTOBER DAISY. 33 

The daisy paused, her heart aghast, 
A startled look around she cast, — 
Somehow, the world seemed wrong. 

In vain she sought for dimpled May, 

Her path with violets strewn, 
And called the autumn sunbeams gay, 
Throughout Octobers lands astray, 

For news of winsome June. 
" I loved you ever, sunbeams dear, 
I often felt your warm breath near, 
Through prison-bars it found its way. 
Oh ! why could not the Summer stay ? 

Why did she leave so soon ? 

" The wind came near my cell to woo, 

With news of sweetest things, 
'Twixt Heaven and Earth he lightly flew f 
'Twixt grass of green and skies of blue, 

Rare perfume on his wings, 
Of swelling buds and singing birds, 
Who woo and coo with winning words 
Of pebbly brooks he told me, too, 
He ever whispered something new, 

For tales from far he brings. 



34 AN OCTOBER DAISY. 

" The rain-drops said my comrades bold 

Should be the kingcups wild ; 
We *d watch the dandelions grow old, 
Who flaunt their waving tresses gold 

At foot of every child. 
The dew-drops told of mosses soft 
That lift their scarlet cups aloft, 
With nectar full as they can hold, 
And how the clover-blooms unfold, 
To kiss the breezes mild. 

" I even hoped," the daisy said, 

" When hedges were ablaze, 
To catch a glimpse of roses red 
Who royally rich perfume shed 

On country roadside ways. 
But now the song of Summer 's done 
And Autumn's funeral chant 's begun." 
The flower sadly bowed her head, 
And tears fell on the grasses dead 
Through Autumn's yellow haze. 

" I saw, when but a bud half-blown, 

A sister blossom lie 
Midst fallen petals ; its beauty flown, 



AN OCTOBER DAISY. 35 

A crisp, brown husk is left alone, 

With swaying stem close by. 
The sunshine says that withered thing 
Holds seeds that into daisies spring, 
That winds the flower-germs have sown, 
That daisies all from seeds have grown, 

I wonder must I die ? 

" O blame me not, October great ! " 

She prayed the month fruit-crowned ; 
" I did not mean to bloom so late, 
I struggled, but was forced to wait, 

By cruel sepals bound. 
I know I 'm strange to your domain, 
But, gracious month of glory ! deign 
To welcome me; 't is desolate 
To blossom now and find no mate 
In these strange flowers around. " 

October kissed the daisy small : 
" Thou 'rt welcome, Marguerite, 

In darkness hearing sunbeams call, 

Thou brave undidst the sepals all, 
Thy little friends to greet. 

Why is thy heart filled with regrets 



36 AN OCTOBER DAISY. 

For June's rose-buds or violets ? 
Thy birthday glows with tints of fall, 
And see the oaks and maples tall 
Drop gold flakes at thy feet. 

" The woods have stolen with cunning theft 

Tints from the painted west ; 
The chestnut-burs by frost are cleft, 
From motherhood of trees bereft, 

They nestle on Earth's breast, 
The wheat 's asleep in golden hush, 
The woodbine glows a shamefaced blush, 
While climbing the elm, by fingers deft, 
To see if careless hang-birds left 

Their speckled eggs in nest. 

" The snowy blossom you saw fade 

Shall bloom in other birth ; 
It gave its life to seeds that strayed 
From the dry husk you watched, dismayed, 

Down to the moistened earth. 
They '11 gather life in midst of death 
And strength from spring-time's life-fraught 

breath ; 
The soil and sun and dew will aid 



AN OCTOBER DAISY, 37 

To cradle their sweet lives in shade ; — 
Oh ! all of life 't is worth 

" To learn how from their winter sleep 

In dark and mystery, 
Their buds will into sunshine peep, 
And out of dim graves slyly creep 

Awake in ecstasy ! 
Then mourn not at the wondrous change 
From dainty bud to seedling strange ; 
Rather learn well this lesson deep, 
How all from slumbrous death shall leap 

To immortality ! " 



WHEN HIS HEART DIED. 

In the warm autumn his heart died : 
Maples were changing to gold ; 

Happy the flush of the woodbine 
Reddened the trellises old, 

And the blue mists gathered slow, 

In the autumn, long ago. 

Lingering stood the fair Summer, 
Slow were her feet to depart ; 

Never again would her beauty- 
Wake chords of praise in his heart ; 

Frosts were calling her away, 

Yet she waited day by day. 

Gently the warm-hearted Summer, 
Whispered the coming of Death ; 

(Shivered a heart in the sunlight, 
Chilled by his cold, frozen breath !) 

38 



WHEN HIS HEART DIED. 39 

Keen her words were like a knife, 
Piercing to the soul of life. 

Fiercely he cried in defiance : 

" Hearts and their love are divine ! 

Never shall Death's dread fingers 
Close on these heart-strings of mine ! 

Life was never yet so sweet, 

Love has made its joy complete. " 

Winds, blowing cold 'gainst the Summer, 
Warned him that Death had come near ; 

Covering his heart with her garments — 
Cried he the winds : " Blow not here ! 

Love like mine holds Death at bay, — 

God will ne'er waste hearts that way ! " 

Then from stern Heaven came fire, 
Shrieking, the false Summer fled ! — 

Shivered his life 'neath God's anger, 
Stricken, his frail heart lay dead ; 

In the lightning glare bereft, 

Love-forsaken was he left. 

Hidden away in a casket, 
Pansies lie, dewy and dark, 



40 WHEN HIS HEART DIED. 

Over his heart's dead emotions, 

Nothing their deep grave to mark. 
Mingling in the world's grim strife, 
What has he to do with life ? 

Searching 'midst nature's rare secrets, 

Intellect keen as of old, 
Interest eager enlisted, 

Only his heart lying cold, 
With its frozen faith and trust ; 
'Neath the faded pansies' dust, 

Thought in his brain still is active, 
Sympathies warm yet and true ; 

Died but his heart with the Summer, 
When the cold wind 'gainst them blew ; 

When the soft mists gathered slow, 

In the autumn long ago. 



COMPLETION. 

" O Love ! " cried the happy October, 

To a maple, stately and fair, 
" Thy green robes are darksome and sober 

For one of thy beauty to wear. 
For that form, so gracefully slender, 

Should wear tints gorgeous and bright. 
I will bring thee dresses of splendor, 

I will bring thee jewels of light ; 
The colors that glow in the heaven, 

The red of the rose shall be thine ; 
By my hand shall thy beauty be given, 

And thus shall its glory be mine." 

So he gathered the sunshine of summer: 
From the dandelions' tresses their gold, 

From the buttercup, June's early comer, 
The light which her chalices hold. 

41 



42 COMPLETION. 

From the wheat and the starry daisies, 

And the fields of yellowing corn, 
And the golden-rod's sun-tangled mazes, 

Where the first hint of autumn is born. 
From all these he took golden glintings ; 

And next he sought purple of kings, 
That fades in the violets' tintings, 

And flashes from butterflies' wings, 
From asters that glow in the meadows, 

And orchids, those radiant things ! 
And the deeper purple of shadows 

That night from the mountain top flings. 

Then his heart with gladness elated, 

With hands that were trembling, though 
bold, 
He ran where the maple tree waited, 

And robed her in purple and gold. 
With the crimson spars of the clover, 

And the poppy-blooms' scarlet flame. 
He jewelled the slender arms over, 

Till roses blushed redder for shame. 

But alas ! for the eager lover ! 

Alas ! that the splendor should fail ! 



COMPLETION. 43 

For the tints he had thrown above her 
Grew fainter and sombre and pale. 

Then he cried : " I will find Life's power, 
Mystery born of living things : 

Life that throbbing in bird and flower, 
To them marvellous beauty brings." 

Then he gathered the clear, pale yellow- 

From canary-birds' downy breasts, 
And the orange hues, warm and mellow, 

The king-birds keep hid in their crests. 
And the warblers sang, yellow-throated, 

" Take our tints," making sunshine cold ; 
And the wood-duck dreamily floated, 

Giving him lights of greenish gold. 
Then with emeralds he decked her 

From the fiery humming-bird, 
And with crimson rubies flecked her, 

But the jewels grew pale and blurred 
So he caught the magical sweetness 

Of a baby's innocent flush ; 
Held the swift and splendid fleetness 

Of a woman's passionate blush. 
But alas ! some strange faintness ever 

Made the colors seem pale and cold, 



44 COMPLETION. 

And the maples' draperies never 
Changed to crimson hues, or gold. 

Then the Frost King came forth unbidden, 

From the purple October mist, 
Where his shining face was hidden, 

And the maple tree coldly kissed. 
Then the maple grew faint and quivered, 

And thrilled with mysterious pain, 
At the touch of his pale lips shivered, 

For they left a crimson stain. 
But behold ! a marvellous, glowing 

Beauty fell from the frost-kiss dread, 
Changed her draperies green to flowing 

Robes of richest purple and red. 
As he watched her loveliness growing, 

Sad October's brown eyes grew dim, 
All her beauty feeling, knowing, 

But alas ! not beautiful for him. 
For he thought another had won her, 

By the spell of his icy breath, 
And the jewels showered upon her 

Were the signets and seals of Death. 
But the soul of the tree was leaping 

With a sense of God-given power, 



COMPLETION. 45 

For she knew by the love through her creeping, 
She never had lived till that hour ! 

To a heart Life brought all his treasures, 

Of laughter, and music, and mirth ; 
Brought joys that were stingless, and pleasures 

That gladdened the beauties of earth ; 
Brought ideals and wonderful visions, 

And meetings with rapture replete ; 
Brought beauty and earthly elysians ; 

Brought her hopes and promises sweet. 
Then he gave her achievements splendid, 

And truths with no touch of deceit, 
And struggles in victories ended, 

And strength never crushed with defeat. 
A new joy to the heart he brought then 

From a friendship tender and fine, 
And a magical wonder wrought then 

With a love that was half-divine. 
But no hint from the heart there gleamed of 

The true loveliness that endears, 
The soul-beauty that Life had dreamed of, 

Till he brought her the gift of tears. 

O strange ! that no joy could so move her ! 
No joy but a terrible pain ! 



46 COMPLE TION. 

For when Sorrow bent low above her, 

Like a rose-bud after rain, 
Bloomed the heart in radiant splendor, 

All her loveliness opened wide, 
Made by suffering more tender, 

Softened, strengthened, glorified ! 
And by Pain's mysterious teaching, 

The last blessing Life could give, 
Through the dark, bereft hands reaching 

Unto God, she learned to live. 



TREE SILHOUETTES. 

No sight in nature is more dear to me 
Than, dark outlined against a winter sky, 

The slender branches of some leafless tree 
Embossed upon the neutral background lie. 

I love the trees, when June's green masses hide 
The happy bird that for his home nest sings, 

And when to flythrough field and forest wide, 
The autumn leaves unfold their gorgeous 
wings. 

But from the restless naked boughs I gain — 
Whose every twig stands sharp against the 
light— 
An inner pleasure woven through with pain, 
As sable threads may run through textures 
bright. 

47 



48 TREE SILHOUETTES. 

Sometimes, a fairy labyrinth they seem ; 

In vain I try to follow each dark line, 
But as in mazy windings of a dream 

I lose my way within the network fine. 

When by the winds of winter tossed about, 
With frantic shrieks and sullen, moaning cries, 

The bare limbs seem like pleading arms held out 
For mercy to the unresponsive skies. 

At times, a tender, glowing hue will flush 
The clouds — 'gainst which the clinging 
branches rest — 

The rose-heart's color, as a girl will blush 

When some love-fancy stirs her happy breast. 

Or pale and soft, a golden light will steal 
Behind the graceful branches, that upraise 

Their prayerful hands to Heaven, etched on the 
deep, 
Clear sky like gray priests lost in praise. 

The trees are lovely when the budding leaves 
Spring from their winter slumber; when the 
frost, 



TREE SILHOUETTES. 49 

With cunning hands, from rainbowed jewels 
weaves 
Their autumn robes, with golden 'broidery- 
crossed. 

But on the winter heavens, cool and gray, 
Slim shadows on a dusky background thrown, 

Seen from my study-window, day by day, 
These mere outlines a fairer sight have 
grown. 



NEW YEAR GIFTS. 

Greet we the New Year now, 
Reverent before him bow, 
Taking his gifts. He stands, 
Filling the empty hands 
Longing toward him we reach ; 
Something he gives to each. 

Fair are the hopes some hold ; 
Future achievements bold. 
Truths they shall reach, shine out 
Stars in their sky. No doubt 
Spreads its black wings and starts, 
Waking to life their hearts. 

Courage and strength to some, 
Victories new shall come ; 
Magic of friendship give 
Hearts renewed joy to live ; 
50 



NEW YEAR GIFTS. 5 1 

Love, angel guest, bestow 
Glimpses of Heaven below. 

Some of the outstretched arms 
Fills he with strange alarms, 
Vague, unknown doubts and fears ; 
Some he gives only tears, 
Failure, and dark-browed Care, 
Sorrow, and gray Despair. 

False friends and faith betrayed ; 
Ideals and dreams that fade ; 
Partings with woe replete ; 
Love robbed of all its sweet ; 
Temptations keen, and pain ; 
Sin's dark, unholy stain. 

Some to an untried strand 
Points he with gentle hand. 
Blest ye the New Year's voice 
Calls from life's pain ! Rejoice ! 
Hearts where he entereth, 
Bringing the gift of death ! 



THE NEW YEAR'S GIFT. 

i. 

I HEARD the New Year's footsteps echo clear 
Outside my open door, and dreading lest 
He enter there — a most unwelcome guest ! 
(A true strong friend had been the sweet Old 

Year) 
" Turn back ! " I cried, " you shall not pass me 

here 
Except you make my friend exceeding blest 
With whatsoever gift you know is best 
Of all you bring/ ' He smiled, and drew more 

near, 
A steady sweetness in his gentle eyes : 
" Be satisfied," he said, " a wondrous gift 
I bring your friend " — and crossed my threshold 

swift 
As when a lightning-winged arrow flies 

52 



THE NEW YEAR'S GIFT. 53 

Far from the bow's tense string — then cried, 

" But sift 
My meaning well if thou wouldst be most 

wise ! " 

II. 

A wondrous gift ! The best of all his store ! 

O happy friend ! what will he do for thee? 

What worthy of thy favor bring ? Would he 

Give back the strength that pain hath weak- 
ened sore, 

Content were I, — I would not ask for more. 

Sweet health ! sure, this the wondrous boon 
must be 

The glad New Year for love's sake promised me 

When first I met him at my chamber door. 

He brought thee death instead. O gift di- 
vine ! 

Outglowing love's fair wishes for her own. 

With eager, lavish hand I would have thrown 

Life's purple clusters at our friendship's 
shrine ; 

He spilled their precious juices, and alone 

Left there death's dregs, more sweet than all 
life's wine. 



THE SALE OF THE PIG. 

OCH ! Biddy, 't is bad news I 'm bringin', 

Wid sorrow my heart 's fit to break ; 
The docther is wantin' his money, 

The rint will be due in a wake. 
But worse than all this, Biddy darlint, — 

A cruel and heart-rindm' blow ! — 
" What's that which has hurt me ? " ye're asking 

Shure ! Biddy, the pig must go ! 

For Kitty, you know, has the maisles, 

And Jim, the poor colleen ! so bad 
The docther has said if we keep 'im, 

We must have fresh air fur the lad. 
The babby, too, she has been ailing 

And now her recovery 's but slow ; 
A change must be made fur the wee wan, — 

So, Biddy, our pig must go. 

54 



THE SALE OF THE PIG, 55 

All day I Ve been thinkin' of, Biddy, 

The counthry so grane and so swate, 
And in my ould head I Ve been plannin' 

Arrangements quite trim and complate. 
You, darlint, must take all the childhurs, - 

(New life upon them 't will bestow !) 
And go from the city to mither's ; 

But piggy to death must go. 

A snug, tidy cottage has mither, 

As purty as iver ye see. 
There 's only wan room besides two, dear, 

But that is enough space fur ye. 
My mither has two little gardens, 

Where praties and posies both grow, 
And glad will she welcome the childhurs, — 

So, Biddy, the pig must go ! 

I hate, dear, to part wid the crathur, 

Perhaps, he 's a throifle too blunt ; 
But oft I have killed me wid laughin', 

A-listenin' to his plazed grunt. 
In faith ! he 's the winnin'est baste, woife, 

Amongst all the pigs that I know ; 
But to the starved knife of the butcher, 

Dear Biddy, our pig must go. 



5 6 THE SALE OF THE PIG. 

He '11 fetch a pile of good money, 

He 's growin' now fat and so big ; 
Ye '11 feel when away fast ye travel, 

Ye 're ridm' away on the pig ! 
Don't let the young childhurs forget, woife, 

What to the dear crathur they owe, 
Since off to the blissed, grane counthry, 

'T is piggy allows 'em to go. 

We '11 lave the nate hut by the railroad, 

Wid pig-pen as good as the bist, 
For I can get wurrk in the city, 

And board there as chape as the rist. 
Whisht, Biddy ! ye plaze to spake aisy ! 

Ye say ye 're not laving me so ? 
That I shall not sthruggle on lonely, 

While away on the pig ye go ? 

Faith ! darlint, mesilf 't is that 's longin' 

To see you again like a rose ; 
Yure eyes, wunst the brag of ould Ireland, 

Again their ould sparkles disclose. 
Whisht, Biddy! have done wid your talkin' ! 

Indade ! I would have me woife know, 
The hilth -of the childhurs is precious — 

So you and the pig must go ! 



COMPENSATION. 

You say his life is barren. 

I well know 
That there are heights he is forbid to climb, 
And summer paths his feet shall never tread ; 
And there are visions sweet which ne'er to him 
Shall grow realities. 

Does he not know 
The worth of love that careless passes by 
His longing heart another's life to bless? 
Is not the poet's world more grand to him 
Who is condemned the dullest prose to live, 
Than 't were if he should so accustomed grow 
To sweetest harmony his soul might fail 
To catch the cadence of the melody? 

None see so far as he to whom life's gifts 
Of richest worth are evermore denied. 

57 



5 8 COMPENSA riON. 

The snow-capped mountains far more grand 
uprear 

Their lofty heads to dwellers in the vales ; 

And he who weary treads the desert, deems 

Each flower more dear than he whose gardens 
fair 

Burn incense to the sunshine. 

Such his life — 

A hopeless striving 'gainst a sturdy fate ; 

A reaching out for what is ne'er attained ; 

A gain of dust and ashes. 

Yet the man 

Whose soul has never known the depths of 
pain, 

Can never reach the tempting heights of joy. 

Would power, or love, or happiness divine, 

Atone to him for change in his own strong 

Yet tender soul, which, like ^Eolian harps, 

Responds with melody to touch of joy, 

Or when Pain sweeps the strings, or Love 
brings forth 

The harmonies that — most sweet — sleep with- 
in? 

Speak thou, dear friend, and tell the happy 
—No! 



THE HEART OF A FLIRT. 

There is a castle strange, Constance, 

(Oh ! ask not whose or where !) 
Its marvels wisest minds entrance 

Of all who enter there. 
Within are treasures rare, ma belle ; 

A crown of moonbeams pale, 
A star from heaven that shining fell, 

And clustering snow-flakes frail. 

Arrows of love ; a siren's song ; 

A plume from Time's swift wing ; 
Will-o'-the-wisps to lead men wrong ; 

And swans who, dying, sing. 
There cold stones weep unfeigned tears, 

And gather moss when rolled ; 
The grim walls have no listening ears ; 

And all that gleams is gold. 

59 



60 THE HEART OF A FLIRT. 

An honest lawyer there I saw 

Charge but a modest fee ; 
A politician's conscience draw 

Astonished crowds to see ; 
The present moment held for aye ; 

And ideals realized ; 
And secrets kept for many a day ; 

And love of poor men prized. 



Within those walls I saw amazed 

Keen slander's venomed shaft 
That left no sting ; and fire which blazed, 

But did not burn ; and laughed 
To find locked fast in crystal case 

Hearts brok'n that naught could cure : 
" Hands off " was writ above the place 

Of love that would endure. 



Most wonderful of all I met 
Behind those golden bars, 

I found the heart of a coquette, 
Disfigured with old scars ; 

'T was written full of lovers' names, 
Dismissed long years ago, 



THE HEART OF A FLIRT. 6 1 

And filled with ashes of dead flames, 
Whence new loves spring and glow. 

Of all those treasures rare, ma belle, 

Of nature and of art, 
And half their worth I ne'er could tell, 

I covet that one heart. 
Is it worth while I question, Sweet, 

For this one's self t' exert, 
Fling life and soul beneath your feet, 

To win — the heart of a flirt ? 



TELL-TALE EYES. 

I THINK of eyes upturned to me 
(The star-sweet eyes upturned to me), 
Steeped in the warmth of summer nights, 
Of star - gemmed, sweet - breathed summer 
nights 
Unfathomed, deep as midnight skies, — 

Dark eyes ! 

I dream of eyes upturned to me 
(The dew-wet eyes upturned to me), 
Like darkest purple pansy-blooms, 
Like dew-dropped, wet-eyed pansy-blooms, 
A hint of tears unshed there lies, — 

Soft eyes ! 

I see in eyes upturned to me 
(The glad, gray eyes upturned to me), 

62 



TELL-TALE EYES. 63 

Faint lights from luminous tender dawns, 
From glad-flushed, gray-lit, tender dawns, 
Greeting the world with sweet surprise, — 

Clear eyes ! 

I read in eyes upturned to me 
(The love-brimmed eyes upturned to me), 
Confessions dear to passionate hearts, 
To love-stirred, brimmed-full, passionate hearts, 
Of love that e'er the tongue denies, — 

Rapt eyes ! 

I look in eyes upturned to me 
(The soul-strong eyes upturned to me), 
My rapturous yearning hushed to calm, 
My soul-deep, strong love hushed to calm, 
To her white heights rebuked I rise, — 

Grave eyes ! 

Her fresh young heart lies bare to me 
(The sweet girl-heart lies bare to me), 
Its dainty fancies, budding dreams, 
Its sweet-voiced, girl-faced, budding dreams, 
Swift from its rest 't would trembling start, — 

Poor heart ! 



64 TELL-TALE EYES. 

Did she but know 't was bare to me 
(The tremulous heart was bare to me), 
Love ! if I should breathe one word, 
One tremulous, burning, passionate word, 
'T would strike through it a wounding dart, — 

Sweet heart ! 

But the girl-heart laid bare to me 
(The proud, wild heart laid bare to me), 
Would crush and kill with bitter scorn, 
With proud-souled, wild-eyed, withering scorn, 
Should her love's rose be torn apart, — 

Brave heart ! 



CLOUDLAND. 

THE glow of the skies in the even, 

The mists of the dawn, 
Veil soft from my eyes the dear heaven, 

And friends who are gone. 

I used when a child oft to wonder 

If, back of the blue, 
Clear turquoise was piled up just under 

The light peering through. 

The clouds hid from view cities shining 

I mournfully dreamed, 
And longed to look through their gold lining 

To where the streets gleamed. 

More fair than the sky soft they glimmered 
Behind the clear glow, 

65 



66 CLOUDLAND. 

Where clouds heaped on high faintly shim- 
mered 
Like cities of snow. 

When autumn's cold breezes fast drifted 

The leaves from on high, 
In sadness the trees then uplifted 

Their arms to the sky. 

As though they were praying th' immortals 

For some angel good 
To lead past the day's cloudy portals 

These babes of the wood. 

On earth the sweet pansies were blighted — 

All blossom and bloom, — 
My heart still with fancies was lighted 

For now their perfume 

Was rich, so it seemed, in the bowers 

Of worlds ever bland ; 
The souls, so I dreamed, of the flowers 

Had gone to Cloudland. 

Though voiceless and drear were the woodlands 
Where birds once had sung, 



CLOUDLAND. 6*J 

Their melodies clear in the cloudlands 
In fancy now rung. 

When closed my dear little babe brother 

His eyes evermore, 
His soul seemed to flit like another 

Winged bird to that shore. 

And oft when uplifted the uncertain 

Vague veil of the place, 
I caught thro* the rifted cloud-curtain 

A glimpse of his face. 

I watch still, while grows the day dimmer, 

The sky in the west 
Lit up by a rosy pale shimmer, 

And into my breast 

Steals gently a peace long unwonted ; 

Again they seem truth, 
The dreams that unceasingly haunted 

The heart of my youth. 

I think of a mist-land diviner, — 
Death's chasm once crossed— 



68 CLOUDLAND. 

Where blessings exist, greater, finer, 
Than those we have lost. 

There glorious surge the ambitions 

Which once stirred our souls, 
Desires shall merge in fruitions, 

Where Progress controls. 

The love of which fate has bereft us, 

The smile and the kiss, 
And sympathy wait which have left us — 

All comfort we miss. 

Again shall dear arms glad enfold us 

In tender embrace ; 
Against all that harms safely hold us 

With love's simple grace. 

Alas ! the old fear has now locked the 

Fair gates from my view, 
Again has a mirage but mocked me ? 

A vision untrue? 

Doubt's mists, dim and strange, darkly lower 

Before my rapt gaze, 
Ah, God ! for the angels' keen power 

To pierce through the haze ! 



SHUT IN. 

TALL fair hills, touched by the sun's warm 

glow ! 
Can I not press beyond ye ? Still ye stand 
Like giant sentinels, a blue-robed band, 
To guard the valley's treasure-fields below. 
Or like strong prison-walls ye seem that hold 
Life out. Your shade lies heavy on my 

brain ; 
My freest thought ye stifle, and I fain 
Would leave behind your farthest rim of gold. 

1 care not for your beauty, though the Day's 
Rose-flush transfigured shows ye, and the 

Night 
Drapes round your curves a veil of silver haze. 
What boon are they, yon shining peaks of 
light? 
The broad world lies beyond, with proud suc- 
cess 
And strong new growth my poor, starved life 
to bless. 

69 



THE SMITTEN RIVIERA. 

The famed Riviera one evening gazed 

With pride on her cities old, 
And smiling in beauty, exulting praised 
Her graceful curved coasts and her moonlighted 
bays 

Whose breasts were a-shimmer with gold. 

She laughed as the sound of the revellers' 
sport, 
Betokening freedom from care, 
Came ringing from Nice, a bombarded fort, 
Where flowers were missiles, and Pleasure held 
court, 
And melodies filled the air. 

Was that the wind wailing through nodding 
trees ? 
Or cries from some pain-stirred souls ? 

70 



THE SMITTEN RIVIERA. 7 1 

A sigh in the streets of an errant breeze ? 
A gale from the surge of the rising seas? — 
A sound through the thrilled air rolls ! 

It swells to a groan, drawing near, more near, — 

A groan from the tortured Earth, 
With sharp, sudden pang, and a spasm of fear, 
In travail 'midst darkness and shadows drear, 
She 's giving a monster birth ! 

It deepens, — it grows to a terrible roar ! — 

Prometheus, wild with pain, 
A vulture of flame at his brave heart's core, 
Is seeking to break from his thraldom sore, 

And burst the iron links of his chain. 

A rumble ! — a roar like hoarse thunder-peals ! — 

The shores with the burden grieve ; 
A shudder of anguish through Italy steals, 
A tremor ! — a thrill ! — and the mad world reels, 
And sobs her deep bosom heave. 

And crashing a hundred fair buildings break 
Through the night, and with souls aghast, 
The slumbering people in terror wake 



72 THE SMITTEN RIVIERA. 

And shriek as they see their church-spires shake 
And tremble like trees in a blast. 



The ruined Riviera in sadness quailed 
At the wrecks of her marble domes, 
At sight of her tottering cities paled, 
And crouched in the dust of her mansions 
wailed 
For her beautiful broken homes. 

O desolate, storm-stricken region ! crushed 

With woe to the throbbing ground ! 
At night : with the pride of her cities flushed , 
At dawn : with the voice of her triumph 
hushed ! 
The Queen of the Sea uncrowned ! 



BATTLE-FIELDS. 

" Ce riest pas la victoire que fait le bonheur des nobles 
cceurs ; Jest le combat" 

When musing on some hard -fought battle- 
field, 
The soul, a victor stands, its thoughts are not 
Of triumph, nor of power, for the heart, 
Unnerved now danger *s past, remembers more 
The pain, the struggle, and the awful cost 
Of conquest. Here an evil thought was slain, 
And there a passion vanquished, but the scars 
Remain to tell how bitter was the strife. 

There lies a foe \ was hard to fight, for once 
He was a friend ; and here the enemy 
Was self. An agony as old as breath 
In this place sobbed its last, and here a love 
Was slain, but almost took life with it. 

73 



74 BA TTLE-FIELDS. 

Ah! 
The soul dreams not of triumph, for fierce 

ghosts 
Of murdered passions haunt the battle-field 
To mock his victory ; and Love sends forth 
Pale, pleading couriers with reproachful eyes 
To ask: " How could you slay so fair a thing ? 

Not on the heights of victory, glory-flushed, 
Brave souls are happiest. Not when the foe 
Lies trodden 'neath the foot. Not when the 

slain 
No longer shriek defiance ! But when roused 
By need of warfare, in the battled midst, 
Each nerve a bow-string tense, each breath a 

dart. 
'T is when the hosts of evil marshal near, 
Bent on the soul's destruction, that it burns 
With fierce joy born when strength embraces 

strength. 
It is in combat that our souls grow strong. 

And if we fail ? Why ! failure may be grand 
If souls have striven truly. Struggle on ! 
The day may yet be won, and if we lose, 



BA TTLE-FIELDS. 7 5 

Our souls have grown more strong to fight 

again. 
" He fought and failed ! ' Oh, lying epitaph ! 
Defeated ? Yes ! but if he bravely fought, 
He could not fail, for God oft calls that gain 
Which we, short-sighted, count ignoble loss. 



IMMORTALITY. 

A BEAUTIFUL thought the Father sent, a boon 
to the sin-tossed earth, 

Where evil and pain held mastery, — to blos- 
som and grow in dearth 

Of love that made its home in heaven so won- 
drous sweet and pure. 

" Go ! teach the world," the Father said, " the 
things that will endure 

When sin and self are vanquished, and God's 
love and man's combine 

To make of earth a paradise, and human hearts 
divine." 

" A voice I must have," said the beautiful 
thought, " a voice that is sweet and strong, 

Whose marvellous melody will reach all hearts 
in the listening throng." 

76 



IMMOR TALIT Y. J J 

Into a minstrel's idle brain the thought in si- 
lence crept, 

And eagerly he seized his harp, while master 
fingers swept 

From out the sensitive, quivering strings a 
noble, heavenly strain, 

Where longing merged into content, and joy 
was linked with pain. 



And ever between the mournful chords a soft 
refrain of hope, 

For hearts whom Doubt holds captive in the 
darkness where they grope 

To reach the steadfast light, stole out and 
bore the wondrous thought 

To weary men and women who but selfish in- 
terests sought. 

To listen to the music rare, a few hearts eager 
turned, 

But carelessly the listless crowd the tender 
message spurned. 

And next it flew where an artist toiled, and 
guided his faltering hand, 



78 IMMOR TALIT F. 

Until he embodied this beautiful thought in 
depths of a picture grand. 

The busy world a moment paused from sinful- 
ness to heed 

The work and give it shallow praise, for critics 
all agreed — 

" 'T was wonderful ! — his light and shade — con- 
ception, too, was fine," — 

But few there were who saw or loved the inner 
thought divine. 

From a poet then rang a thrilling song, for 

hope had inspired his soul ; — 
" Ah ! now they will listen !" the happy thought 

said, as into the crowd it stole. 
But scarcely a ripple it made in life, though 

the poet sang loud and clear, 
For men pushed on their own low aims, and 

never once paused to hear 
The truth sublime that genius framed in rhythm 

free and bold, 
For the heart and brain of the worn-out world 

were strangely dull and cold. 

It stirred a philosophers Godlike brain ; 't was 
voiced by a sweet-toned child ; 



IMMORTALITY. 79 

On breath of blossoms 't was carried abroad, 

and thundered from storm-clouds wild ; 
It jewelled a maiden's spotless soul ; and shone 

from a lover's eyes ; 
And grew in a mother's tender heart, made 

rich through sacrifice. 
But ever the heedless throng pushed on with 

suffering, shame, and sin, 
And never the soul of the weary world the 

beautiful thought could win. 

Discouraged, the thought returned to God : " I 

have failed," it said, " to make 
The world take heed of thy comfort sent to 

the weary hearts that ache. 
Few souls would cease from sin or pain to list 

to my joyful word, 
And never one would take into his life the 

hope he heard. 
Disheartened I grew with each new trial in the 

wearisome years on earth ; 
Returning now with empty hands, nought has 

my toil been worth." 

The Father then the despairing thought a mag- 
ical vision gave : 



80 IMMOR TALIT Y. 

And first it saw a woman stand beside a dead 

love's grave. 
She dug it deep in her own sad heart, and 

buried the slain love there ; — 
A thrill of pity stirred the thought, when — lo ! 

upon the air, 
The old sweet strain from the minstrel's harp 

rose clear and trembling fell, 
And the woman smiled and murmured low, 

" He doeth all things well." 

And then in a gallery, art-enhanced, the thought 

saw a painting hung, 
Whose meaning deep uplifted the soul like the 

song that the minstrel sung. 
And one there was in the careless crowd, who 

reverently held his breath, 
Before the glimpse that the picture gave of the 

mystery of death, 
It haunted his heart as he toiled that day 

and crowded the demons out, 
Till Faith was enthroned a king in his soul in 

place of the tyrant Doubt. 

And over the world it roamed again, the won- 
dering, awe-struck thought, 



IMMOR TALITY. 8 1 

And found that to many a lonely one new 

strength had its poem brought ; 
It went like a talisman to protect where the 

serpent of evil coiled ; 
And heard its own voice from lips of a child 

keep a soul from the world unsoiled ; 
And never a breath had it spent in vain, but 

each had enkindled some heart 
With its heaven-born hope, till the beautiful 

thought had grown of all life a part. 



THE SWEETEST JOY OF HEAVEN. 

I. 

I DREAMED last night that I awoke and found 
That I had died ; and with a slow, dull ache 
Within my heart, I rose and wandered 'round 
Disconsolate, while listening to the sound 
Of bitter tears, slow-dropping to the ground, 
Drawn from the hearts unhappy for my sake, 
I, all-unconscious, left alone to break. 
" O Death ! " I cried, " how can I now forsake 
My best-loved ones ? For years I Ve stood 
beside 
Them, loving them, though mute in helpless- 
ness 
Before great pain and loss, which oft I tried 
To soothe, in vain, — not mine the power to 
bless, 
I was so weak, — and now I, too, have died, 
And my loved ones again are comfortless/' 

82 



THE SWEETEST JOY OF HEAVEN. 83 

II. 

But as I moaned, a joyful knowledge grew 
Of some divine new strength which I pos- 
sessed 
To comfort my beloved. So I threw 
My clinging arms about them, and I drew 
Them back from that cold, frosty thing I knew 
Had once been I. My dear ones never 

guessed 
That it was I who soothed them into rest 
And brought new courage to each weary 
breast ; 
But I a wonderful, sweet thing had learned, 
For all my earth-wrought woe a glorious 
meed, 
The hearts above whose pain I hopeless 
yearned 
On earth, I had grown strong to help. No 
heed 
I took of other joys, but from all turned, — 
For more of Heaven than this no soul has 
need. 



BUTTERFLIES. 

In an easy-chair, half-sleeping, 

Book slow-dropping from his hold, 

Sat a poet, vigil keeping, 

When the day was growing old, 
And the twilight's misty curtain softly, silent- 
ly unrolled. 

Dreaming there in poet fashion, 

Rhythms dancing through his brain, 

Rapt in inward exaltation, 

Heedless for the hour of pain, 
Earthly shackles seemed removed ; spirit only 
there held reign. 

Then a lady from the growing 

Shadows deep'ning round him there, 
Stepped into the fire-light glowing, 
With a gracious winning air ; 
Shone her eyes like opals softly 'neath the 
brown braids of her hair. 
84 



BUTTERFLIES. 85 

Cried the dreamer : " Sweetest vision 
Of a poet long years dead ! 

Comest thou from fields elysian 

Whence my thoughts have oft been led 
When in ecstasy thy verses, pure and holy, I 
have read ? " 

Musically the lady answered, 

In a tender, restful tone, 
Which the poet almost fancied 

Was an echo of his own 

Rhythmic numbers that had haunted him 
while sitting there alone. 

Eager asked he many a question 

Of that wondrous spirit strand ; 
Naught his heart had found to rest on 

In this dreary mortal land, 

And he longed to pierce death's shadows and 
their meaning understand. 

Heaven, she told him, seems a newly 
God-made earth, but glorified ; 

There the dead live on so truly 
That it seems not they have died : 
Ever baffled as he strove to grasp her mean- 
ing, low he cried : 



86 BUTTERFLIES. 

" Tell me what in Eden greeted 
First your wondering, wistful eyes ? 

What life's half-learned truths completed ?" 
Then she answered : " Butterflies ! " 
Disappearing, left the poet filled with 
thoughts of paradise. 

Fancies fleet to heaven winging, 

Free from desperate doubt's control, 

While her sweet words still were ringing 
In the silence of his soul ; 
Trusting, hoping, as in boyhood, his glad 
thoughts in measures stole : 

O beautiful type 
Of spirits grown ripe 
For life made divine ! 
This dark heart of mine 
Your teaching receives. 
Life endless believes, 
No more for Death grieves. 

His skeleton hand 
Unfastens the band 
That holds us to earth. 
The soul in new birth 



BUTTERFLIES. 87 

Soars upward to bliss. 
Think you it will miss 
Its worn chrysalis f 

In God's gardens blest 
Its bright wings will rest. 
Sweet welcojnes wait there 
From Loves blossoms fair ', 
Transplanted by Death, 
Who chills by his breath, 
But life perfect eth. 

And the poet's soul expanding 

With a sense of deathlessness, 
To these insects (understanding 

Fully now life's endlessness) 

Ever turned in doubting moments with a 
new-born tenderness. 



SOME DAYS. 

SOME days there are when life and love 
Seem best of gifts from God above ; 
Some days when sky and sun and sea 
Bring sweetest thoughts of life to me ; 
Some days heart-aches but trifles seem, 
And haunting care an idle dream — 

Some days. 

But clouds may hide the bluest sky, 
And tears 'neath softest lashes lie ; 
Strong winds make rough the smoothest sea, 
And crash to earth the tallest tree ; 
Though light the woes that to us fall, 
The pain of others saddens all — 

Some days. 



88 



THE COAL DIGGER. 

In a stifling pit a miner worked, 
Beneath the light of the golden day, 

Where the noisome gas and fire-damp lurked 
Like stealthy beasts in his narrow way. 

Like a grimy Cyclops the miner seemed, 
One round eye throwing an evil light, 

For the lamp on his forehead redly gleamed 
In the shadowed depths of the pit's mid- 
night. 

He drove his sharp pick in the mountain side 
To bring black jewels from settings dim. 

The coal is the diamond unpurified, — 
A truth which never had come to him. 

The wide-loving Father has taught in the coal 
And flash of the gem, in substance the same, 

89 



90 THE COAL DIGGER. 

The elements Godlike that dwell in each soul, 
Though one has glory and one has shame. 

The miner but thought in his vague, dull way, 
Of his fading wife and his children three, 

And if there were bread for another day, 
Since a soulless clod of the earth was he. 

Of the giant trees he never thought 

Which once to the sun waved tufted heads, 

Where the wondrous change had since been 
wrought 
That formed the massive rich coal-beds. 

He did not know that once just there 
Great forests of ferns began to grow 

And spread their fronds to the tropic air ; 
For his brain was dull and his fancy slow. 

'Neath his echoing blows the coal broke 
through, 
And burst from the solid, glistening wall, 
But he simply remembered the rent was due, 
And would swallow the most of his earnings 
small. 



THE COAL DIGGER, 9 1 

A loaded car down the dark crept past, 

Like a long, black hearse for a moment seen ; 

But never a glance the miner cast, 

For what was he but a mere machine ? 

And patiently dull the man toiled on 
For home and children and fading wife, 

Till his limbs were cramped and his strength 
was gone, 
But he hardly dreamed of a fuller life. 

One day the gas and the fire-damp grim, 
Wild, hungry beasts that had waited long, 

Leaped quick at his throat and throttled him 
With the horrible might of their hatred 
strong. 

And people read in a careless way, 

When his stupid, poor heart-strings lay 
chilled : 
" A slight explosion occurred to-day, 

But only a digger of coal was killed. " 

But I think in the Spirit-World he will learn 
The beautiful things that escaped him here, 

For the heart of the Father must surely yearn 
O'er one condemned to an earth-life drear. 



92 THE COAL DIGGER, 

His brain will be filled, and his soul grow 
broad, 

In the wondrous light of Heaven's day, 
It could never be meant by a loving God 

That he should be always a lump of clay. 



SEPARATION. 

Dear, tender hands that somewhere on God's 
earth 
Seem cold and empty, barred from clasp of 
mine, 
That reach out longing after it, in dearth 
Of other help ; my hands have need of thine. 

Strong hands ! that would have helped me in 
my need, 
That never would have put me careless by ; 
Kind hands ! I know that many a loving deed 
Would cheer my weary days were you but 
nigh. 

Sometimes I dream, dear hands, that once 
again 
The magic of your touch may thrill my 
heart, 

93 



94 SEPARA TION. 

The joy of meeting exorcise my pain, 

E'en though again our lonely paths must 
part. 



No more? Would not the clasp of hands un- 
lock 
The silent portals of the lips, and words — 
Passionate words — so long repressed, then 
flock 
To speech, as breaks the dawn with song of 
birds ? 



Ah, dear ! I could not bear it. Sundered wide 
Our paths still lie. Why should we try to 
reach 

Across the gulf? Why let the pent-up tide 
Of silent years break forth in useless speech ? 



And so I pray, dear hands, that touch of thine 
Shall ne'er before sweet Death's triumphant 
hour, 

With soft caress, near cheek or hand of mine, 
Until I lie too cold for passion's power. 



SEPARA TION. 95 

Then once, just once, dear hands, when mine 
are cold 
And stir not at your coming, gently take 
The frozen fingers in your living hold, 

An instant clasp them, for the old troth's 
sake. 



AND YET. 

I WISH we could stay just lovers, dear! 

My heart with vague doubts is beset ; 
The skies of our future star-dotted appear, 
Our souls must grow ever more blessedly near, 

And yet — 

'T were folly to think that you could grow cold, 

Or I become selfish and fret, 
Indifference tarnish our happy love's gold, 
Our hearts with our faces grow withered and 
old — 

And yet— 

I wish that the world would just stand still, 

And keep us, as now, in love's net ; 
The years that are coming so hurriedly will 
In glorious perfection our rose-dreams fulfil, — 

And yet ! 
9 6 



AND YET. 

We have loved and forgotten our loving ; 

'But you would remember again ? 
Could you take up the threads we have broken, 

And weave them together, — what then ? 

Could the trust that 's the life of true loving 

Exist once again for us two? 
Are you certain that / would be faithful ? 

Or sure that to me you 'd be true ? 

Can you take from the rose its rare perfume, 
And bid the bloom still be as sweet? 

Will the germ that is touched by the Frost 
King 
Spring up into golden wheat? 

Who shall wake from the harp sweet music, 

If tuned to a silent string? 
Can the bird that is hurt by the hunters 

Fly far on a broken wing? 

97 



98 AND YET. 

But our love ? — 't is a rose that 's faded ; 

A thorn that is left in its stead ; 
Just a shadow that 's thrown on the grasses ; 

The ghost of a passion dead. 

Do you seek from the grave to call it ? 

I tell you it died long ago. 
There 's no throb of life through its pulses, 

Within its dulled eyes there 's no glow. 

And yet if we two could remember ! — 

And if we could only forget ! — 
Remember our troth — not its breaking ; — 

Our love 's but a phantom — and yet ! 



AN INTERLUDE. 

Let us find only joy in the world to-day, 

No room for regret, 
We will push this dull pain from our hearts 

away, 
And the phantoms which shadow our lives 
for aye, 
Forget, dear, forget. 

Who can know whether God, in his might, will 
bring 
Our souls close again? 
When the years shall unclasp the cold hands 

that cling, 
Though each one unto each is life 's dearest 
thing, 
What then, love, what then ? 

99 



IOO AN INTERLUDE. 

We are hurried apart with relentless pace 

From dreams scarce begun, 
Shall we sorrow for putting thought by a space ? 
Or regret any moment of Love 's swift grace? 

Not one, sweet, not one. 



DIVIDED. 

A SPIRIT there is in this silent place, 

In the hush of the evening still, 
It brings me, like stars from the wicTning space; 
The wonderful smile on a cold, dead face, 

And a grave on a sunburnt hill. 

My heart's lonely chambers it entereth, 

With the dear old familiar guise. 
I see, as I watch with a hurried breath, 
My darling, my darling, come back from death, 

With a smile in his tender eyes. 

O Love ! could I reach thee and hold thee fast, 
Till my soul should grow strong and brave ; 
Redeem the mistakes of a worthless past, 
And climb to the heights where you stand, at 
last, 
But I never can cross that grave ! 



102 DIVIDED. 

The sun, as it burns on those grave-sods deep, 

Cannot lessen my life's strange chill ; 
Till Love is forgotten, and Pain asleep, 
That wonderful smile in my heart I '11 keep, 
'Neath that grave on the wind-swept hill. 



TWO WOMEN. 

Two lives there were, two restless woman lives, 
Full of sweet promises and chances fair, 

As every woman's life, ere pain deprives 

Her soul of all but that strange power to bear. 

Both lives soon learned how love's divinest 
might 
Can bring more bliss than Heaven without 
love give ; 
And both were taught that Death's cold hand 
can blight 
Hope's tender blooms before they truly live. 

Each lonely woman saw herself shut out 

From dear home-life, a woman's truest one, 
And felt age's binding cords were drawn about 
Her shrinking heart, before her youth was 
done. 

103 



104 TWO WOMEN. 

To each the self-same choice was given then : 
Upon the plains, where many hearts beat 
time, 

To dwell ; or separated from the world of men, 
Alone, the dreary mountain-peaks to climb. 



One chose the valley's sheltered, safe retreat, 
Where one who loved her gave her tender 
care ; 

And baby-kisses kept her own lips sweet, 
While all life centred in the home-nest there. 

And who can blame the woman, that she chose 

Life's warmth and color, ere her first love 

burned 

To ashes ? Hearts need hearts ; and oh ! God 

knows 

Dear love is sweet, although but half-returned. 

But from those heights she had not tried to gain; 

Down to the level of her life there swept, 
At times, a breath so pure that the old pain 

And strong regret across her heart-strings 
crept. 



TWO WOMEN, 105 

Oh ! once upon the mountain tops to stand, 
Where clouds and stars are comrades ; and 
to feel 

Her soul no smaller, but know it as grand 
As aught of heaven the rifted skies reveal ! 

And one the mountains chose. O still, cold 
heights ! 
What joy have ye for hungry hearts ? Can 
stars 
Be lovers ? Clouds be home ? Or pale, soft 
lights 
From heaven be sweet as gleams from earth's 
rose-spars ? 

She might have nestled in the valleys, too ; 

But since her heart a love divine had known, 
She chose the weary heights, her soul too true 

To yield her life unto a lesser one. 

But oft rose-lights would tint the mountain 
snow, 
And children's voices mock her barren breast ; 
And yearning toward the valley's warmth and 
glow, 
That half-love seemed of all past things the 
best. 



REFLECTIONS. 

Within a sluggish pool I saw a bank 

Reflected, where coarse weeds and nettles 

grew, 
And glowing poison-berries that I knew 
Were deadly to the taste ; while grasses rank 
Leaned o'er the edge and of the waters drank. 
But looking deeper, I beheld the blue 
Of far-off heaven, and one stray bird that 
flew 
Across the sky and to her nestlings sank. 
So in the soul of man I saw gross weeds 
Of evil that had flourished, mirrored fair, 
But safe beyond the sins white wings of 
prayer, 
And gleams of heavenly light in noble deeds. 
O friends ! look deep in every human soul, 
And lo ! God's image glorifies the whole. 

1 06 



TO MY CLOCK. 

You tick so slow, my clock, so slow ! 

I watch your little hands glide round ; 
Like golden stars your wheels of brass 
Within their tiny orbits pass 

With musical, sweet sound. 
I watch them through the crystal case, 
I watch your own round, patient face, 

Till half asleep I grow. 

You tick so sweet, my clock, so sweet ! 

I see the dial's growing shade ; 
As moving o'er Chaldea's plains, 
The sun his western watch-tower gains. 

I see the shadow fade 
From Ahaz' dial, when the priest 
Prayed God that backward to the East 

It might a space retreat. 

You still tick on ! You still tick on ! 

I stand where Charlemagne 's enthroned, 

107 



I08 TO MY CLOCK, 

And hear his clock that measured time 
By water-drops escaping, chime 

Its melody low-toned. 
I see King Alfred's candles burn 
While he looks up from books to learn 

The day is nearly gone. 

You tick so fast, my clock, so fast ! 

I see the farmers' faces brown, 
Within the hay-field turn to mark 
The shadows lengthen toward the dark, 

While red the sun goes down. 
I see the house-wife's open door, 
And note upon the sanded floor 

The stretch of shadow cast. 

Oh, stay your hands, my clock, O, stay ! 

There lies the last new book unread, 
Neglected letters I must write, 
A poem should be sung to-night 

That 's floating through my head ! 
While I Ve been idly dreaming here 
About the old time-pieces queer, 

You Ve ticked an hour away ! 



MORNING-GLORIES. 

The moon in her pale, amber splendor, 
So patient, and tender, and true, 

Was lingering late in the heavens, 

And waiting the summer night through, 

For the kiss of her bold, ardent lover, 
The sun, who was coming, she knew. 

Afar through the mists of the day-dawn, 
His gold-gleaming path she could trace ; 

The light which his radiant glances 
Reflected on her loving face, 

Shining forth in the shadowy midnight, 
Illumined the whole garden-space. 

It shone on the poppies' red slumber ; 

It kindled the lilies with light ; 
It peeped in the eyes of the daisies 

Hid close 'neath the eyelids of white ; 

109 



IIO MORNING-GLORIES. 

And it climbed where the gay morning-glories 
Had slept through the long golden night. 

A hush where the wire-winged insects 
That swiftly through gardens were 

From roses to violets flitting, 

Had ceased from their restless whir ; 

And a wan, white light in the heavens ; 
A million green leaflets astir. 

Soft breezes that creep thro* the garden ; 

A twitter from birds in their nest ; 
A breath through the bright morning-glories 

Waked them from their summer-night rest, 
Just to see the fair moon in her splendor 

Leap glad to the sun's glowing breast. 

They looked for the moon's swift returning, 
Till closed their round eyes, every one, 

Discouraged and weary with waiting 
Ere half of the day's watch was done ; 

And the vine with its wealth of bright faces 
Turned ever away from the sun. 



MORNING- GL ORIES. 1 1 1 

So only one glimpse of her glory 

The blooms on the trellises had ; 
They slept while she reigned in the heavens, 

In magical silver robes clad, 
And they waked just to see the moon vanish 

The heart of the sun to make glad. 

So ever we seek for some treasure 
The joy of our lives to complete, 

But oft like the bright morning-glories 
Turn away from its presence sweet, 

Or wake just to see the gift vanish 
And catch but a vision fleet. 



THE END. 



o 



